The Message
by Orison
Summary: Short, post-finale fic. Riggs is in Mexico to execute his plan, but there's a phone call he needs to make before that.


A/N: I know, Agent Palmer is not exactly popular in the Lethal Weapon fandom. To me, it doesn't matter if you're Team Palmer, Team Cahill or Team NoOne. I always try to stay true to the show, and I felt that with all that was going on in the finale, this particular storyline needed closure. Or something more that what we've seen so far, so I tried to imagine how to fix that. This is the result.

The following song was playing in the background as I wrote.

 _If I had nothing to my name_

 _But photographs of you_

 _Rescued from the flames_

 _That is all I would ever need_

 _As long as I can read_

 _What's written on your face_

 _The strength that shines_

 _Behind your eyes_

 _The hope and light_

 _That will never die_

Chris Cornell – The Promise

* * *

The first call had been to Flores. He had watched the son of a bitch's face go from smug to afraid and it had sent a satisfying jolt of adrenaline through his veins.

Sitting in a small outdoor café, surrounded by people chatting loudly and enjoying the warm, summer evening, Martin Riggs was already savoring the moment that would finally allow him to get his revenge on the man that had ordered the hit on Miranda. He needed closure, whatever the cost.

He had already said goodbye to Roger as the train sped between them, a perfect metaphor for the rift dividing their partnership, so there was only one other person he could think of calling.

He took the disposable phone he'd purchased a few hours earlier out of his pocket and stared at it for a long moment.

Uncertain fingers punched in the familiar numbers as an unexpected nervousness took hold of him and he wondered what he was going to say to her. Their last encounter had turned into one of the worst nights of his life, and he hadn't even noticed her getting up and leaving the restaurant until later when the waitress had asked if he still wanted to order. Like he could stomach food after that. Or any kind of company.

She knew him better than he thought, and had left him alone to process the content of that file. He owed her at least a phone call.

Taking a deep breath, he pressed the 'call' button and held the device to his ear.

"Palmer. Say what you have to say after the beep."

Martin's lips curled upwards. The message never failed to put a smile to his face. He felt relieved to be talking to her voicemail. It gave him a weird sense of comfort. Would've been much harder otherwise to tell her what he needed to.

"Hey, Palmer. It's Riggs." His voice betrayed a hint of nervousness that he was certain she would pick up. "I'm sure you heard what happened. Whole thing must be all over the news there. Big deal and all."

He still couldn't wrap his mind around Ronnie's betrayal. The man had been the closest thing to a father figure he'd ever had, helping and supporting him through the whole ordeal and all that time, all that time he'd had his daughter's blood on his hands. Those same hands that had touched him, held him, reassured him.

"Gideon's dead. There's going to be no body to recover so you got to trust me on this."

Unable to sit still, he put on the white Ray Bans he'd donned to disguise himself as a tourist, got up, and moved to find a quieter spot.

"There's things I've done… stuff I'm not proud of that you won't see in your file. I've made peace with that, and I'm ready to accept the consequences. But it ain't over. I just… can't let this go."

A young couple walked past him, hand in hand, sharing one kiss after another. Martin pulled his cap further down on his face and turned the other way. "Miranda was my lifeline," he continued, slowly heading back to his truck. "She saved me, each and every day that we spent together, and they killed her. So I'm taking care of business. I uh, … I might not come out of this and... listen, none of this is your fault, alright? I wanted you to know that. I appreciate you telling me about Miranda and I'm going to make sure they pay for what they've done to her but I can't drag anyone else down with me."

Outside the small city center, away from all those happy people, from the music and the lights, it was just as dark as those nights in Iraq and Afghanistan, back when he was a soldier. Back before she fixed him.

Martin leaned against the side of his truck, arm across his chest, head down. "So uh, this is goodbye. Thank you, Palmer. For the time we spent together. It's been much more than enjoyable. The way I felt… what you gave me, it was a breath of fresh air. Didn't know I needed it until…you know."

He had wondered how things would've gone if she hadn't dropped that bomb on him. If they'd just enjoyed dinner together. Out, in the open. Like a real date. Calling each other by name. The thought was scary and intriguing at the same time. Could he really care for somebody else? For a brief moment, he had thought he could.

"Now you promise me one thing: next guy who asks you out to dinner… just go for it, okay? Don't drag it." He paused, then added in a whisper he hoped was too low to be heard. "I wish I'd done that."

The phone slid from his hand back into his pocket. Somewhere in the distance, people were laughing and clapping their hands. Having a good time. Martin pictured the young couple dancing to one of those catchy tunes he had heard nonstop since he'd crossed the border and wished them the fate he never had: a long, happy life together.

He glanced at the moon before getting into the car and embarking on the last part of his mission, but it offered no wisdom.

This was his quest and his alone.

He would either succeed or die trying.

THE END


End file.
